


before and after breakfast

by spocklee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Monster of the Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 16:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30125457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spocklee/pseuds/spocklee
Summary: The monster of the week is a ghost who hates meat, alcohol, and feeling yourself. Guess who it is during the commercials.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah son of a bitch here we are again. okay. this one got a little more uh explicit than usual. have fun with that.

“So the common factor in all of these cases was…”

“S-E-X? Come on, Sam, just say it.”

“It’s not that simple. Some of these people were alone when they died.”

“So a succubus is having sex with people and killing them.”

“But someone also died in their car outside a diner at 4 in the afternoon. I don’t think they were getting freaky in the parking lot of Barabra Ann’s Barbeque.”

“You don't know that. And you got that place pulled up? What’s the Yelp review?”

“Dean.”

“What? We’re going to have to eat somewhere.”

“If it’s a demonic monster, we should be able to pick up signs. Hey, you think Cas wants to go?”

“What am I, his secretary?”

“Yeah, kind of. Go get him.” 

-

“Okay. I pulled up the town to see if there are any obvious trails to pick up and did some research.”

“You got some fun facts on Battle Creek, Carmen Sam Diego?”

Sam looked up from the computer with a face like a stone, “No.”

“No to trivia or no to…”

“To the nickname, Dean. I can see you thinking you’re funny and I’m telling you, I will ruin your life.”

“Fine. Hey. Cas. You awake?”

There was a mutter from the rumpled pile of cloth in the backseat.

“Cas, you ever think about wearing a red trench coat? Change it up a little?”

Sam kept typing, “Do _you_ ever think about it?”

“What? Why would I wear a trench coat?”

“Nevermind.”

Cas was looking blearily up at the ceiling of the Impala, “I don’t usually have money.”

“That’s true. You ever try on those old jeans I gave you?”

“Too small,” Cas settled back into napping position.

“Why the hell are the only two people I ever drive with,” Dean said, tapping his fingers on the wheel, “always reading or sleeping?”

“Battle Creek is known as the ‘cereal city.’”

“Thrilling.”

“It’s where the Kellogg company was founded.”

“Great. Good. Let’s get some Apple Jacks.”

“Hm,” Cas hummed, still lying on his back, “Mini-wheats.”

“It was also where Sojourner Truth ended up living. Uh, and also, the home of the American eugenics movement. Coincidentally run by Will Kellogg’s brother, who founded a health sanitarium. You guys know anything about John Kellogg?”

Both Cas and Dean, “No.”

“The dude was obsessed with getting people to stop eating meat, stop drinking alcohol, stop masturbating. Like, to the point he recommended ‘surgical remedies.’ And yogurt enemas.”

“Sam. You can’t just say ‘yogurt enema’ while a man is behind the wheel. You want to get us all killed? Hold on. What the fuck do you mean surgical remedies?”

“You don’t want to know. But Will invented corn flakes, and John thought they would help people stop having sex. Bland food, bland libido. He got pissed when Will added sugar to them and started making a ton of money.”

“And you think now we got a bland ghost? Who kills people?”

Sam shrugged, “Maybe. It kind of makes sense, right? His ghost is pissed that modern people are having sex, jerking off, and drinking more than ever. And Barabra Ann’s is famous for their Triple Meat Four Alarm Five Pound Steak-Pork Chop-Sandwich Challenge.”

“For bait it sounds like we could just throw a burger into Single’s Night and wait.”

“Yeah, and then deal with a ghost in front of fifty people while a shitty Arianna remix plays too loud.”

“Hm,” Cas hummed again, thoughtful, “Arianna.”

“Are you even paying attention back there?”

Cas waved a lofty hand, “Ghost. Psychosexual resentment about health and death. Seventh Day Adventist or Mormon?”

Sam raised his eyebrows, “Seventh. Good guess.”

Cas, wisely: “The alcohol.”

“Okay. So what’s the plan? 

“John Kellogg is buried in the city cemetery. If it’s him, we can burn the body.”

“If it’s not?”

“Then maybe we should look around first before we risk getting caught desecrating a famous grave. We should also check to see if there’s any objects of his that might be linked instead of the body,” Sam closed the laptop, “And we should probably check to see if this is even a ghost in the first place.”

-

“So should we summon this ghost or research first? Hell, we could probably do both at the same time.”

“Let’s summon it, then we can check to make sure it’s actually John.”

“Yeah, you got that photo of him?”

“Here.”

“Okay. Will: bald nerd. John: hairy cult leader.”

Cas was sitting on the bed, patiently waiting. Dean zipped up the duffel bag.

“Okay. Now we just gotta summon the bastard.”

All three of them paused. Sam and Cas looked at Dean.

“What?”

“Well. It’s meat, booz, and lust. And you, you know, you’re a–”

“I’m a what, Sam?”

“I’m just saying, you like all those things more than me or Cas do.”

“I’ve been known to indulge. So what, you want me to sit around with a six-pack, some porn, and a burger? Because I’m not saying no, but you both better find some place else to be.”

“You’re cool dispelling the ghost yourself?”

“You two aren’t going to wait outside and help me?”

“If it means kicking down the door while you’re in the middle of Dean-time? I’d rather die.”

Cas interjected, “I can stay with you, Dean.”

“NO,” Dean said, “No, pal, it’s cool. Sam’s right, I’ll handle it myself. You two go talk to some witnesses. I’ll stay here and do all the hard work myself.”

-

Several hours, a few texts, and a missed phone call later, Sam knocked on the motel door.

“Dean?”

Cas and him stood there. He looked to Cas, who nodded supportively. Sam knocked again.

“Dean!”

He looked at Cas. Cas shrugged. At some point he’d learned to shrug very emphatically.

“The car’s still in the parking lot. Maybe I should call him again.”

“Sam,” Cas put a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “Do you want me to open this door so you don’t have to?”

Sam wished it was the right time to express how much he appreciated Cas’s help, the way he balanced out him and Dean in a way they’d always needed, the way he really had become Sam’s best friend and Dean’s ‘best friend’ down the line, but for now he just nodded. Cas waited for him to get out of eyesight of the door before unlocking it and throwing it open so hard it banged against the wall.

He could hear Dean’s voice inside, “What the- Who the hell! Cas!”

“Hello, Dean. Were you asleep?” Cas waved Sam over; it was safe.

Dean’s eyes were still mostly closed from where he was trying to push himself up on an elbow from the bed. There were two burger wrappers on the bed, some cans on the floor. The laptop had a video player up that had mercifully already ended, although the visible title was _Rodeo Girls: In The Big City._

“Yeah. You trying to dent the wall? Who taught you how to open doors, dude?”

“You weren’t answering calls. We were worried.”

“You guys find anything?”

“Basically what the reports suggested. No signs of demonic activity, witnesses said they saw an older man dressed in vintage clothes, almost see-through.”

“Freaky beard?”

“Usually a freaky beard. But some people said it had glasses and was bald. Some people said it looked like their grandmother.”

“So that’s weird,” Dean laid back on the bed, “Good job, team.”

“Did you uh, ever see the ghost yourself?”

“No. Fell asleep.”

“Wow. Your golden days are over, huh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cas was focused on the laptop screen with a line in his brow, “You could have been attacked in your sleep, Dean. You were careless.”

“Who cares? It’s probably John, let’s just hit his grave tonight.”

“I don’t like this, Dean. I don’t want to go to that graveyard just to find out it’s something worse we’re dealing with.”

“Yeah, okay. How else are we gonna summon it?”

-

Dean struck out at the local bar. Meanwhile Sam went in and out of the motel bathroom refusing to look Cas in the eye. Sam did not like the idea of encouraging Dean to get blackout drunk, and Dean admitted it did not seem appealing in the moment. 

“What about a strip club?”

Dean shrugged without enthusiasm. Sam sighed.

“Order take-out from Barbara Ann's?”

“I think I’m gonna hurl if I eat again after that nap. Cas, think you can take one for the team and eat raw meat again?”

Cas glared at the both of them, stood up from the bed, and walked out, muttering, “This is getting stupid,” before the door closed.

Dean turned to Sam, who looked just as confused but hardly annoyed when he said, “I don’t know, man.”

-

_Where are you_

_I went to go summon the ghost_

_DOING WHAT_

_Went to bar. I have iron with me. Go to gravesite and be ready_

_Fuck that give me your address_

Dean stopped pacing around the room once Cas texted him the street, and threw the car keys to Sam.

“Asshole actually went to Single’s Night. Probably put a burger in his pocket too. You gotta drop me off somewhere.”

-

Of course there was a cover charge. He got through, after the bouncer gave him an unimpressed look and said nothing. The music was loud, and dimly in the back of his mind he registered that the men were dancing with other men and the women were dancing alone. He considered asking the bartender if he’d seen a guy, _this tall, uncombed hair, blue eyes_ , etc, when he noticed a cheeseburger left in its wrapper on the bar top with a bite out of it. He caught the bartender’s eye and pointed at it.

“You see the guy who brought this in?”

The bartender gave the burger an exhausted look and then lifted his chin to point somewhere behind Dean, without putting down the glass he was filling at the tap, “Didn’t even order anything. I’m not gonna touch it.”

When Dean turned and saw Cas across the room, it was through a corridor of bodies, as if the sea of people had parted just so to create this moment in time.

His coat was gone. Dean could imagine an employee at the front door raising their eyebrows at a wild-eyed man, alone, trying to come in wearing a trenchcoat. His suit jacket was also gone. The tie was loose, and the white shirt was unbuttoned and rumbled. Dumbass probably left the iron bar in his jacket. His face was flushed, which might have had something to do with the the men on either side of him. 

The one in front of him was holding him by the hips, shoulders canted back but leg jutting in between Cas’s own. Cas was leaning against the man behind him for support, the man’s hands on his chest and waist. They were all rolling and grinding against each other, not furiously but in a wave-like rhythm to the music, in a way that to Dean seemed borderline illegal to do in public. 

Cas looked dazed, lost, eyes hooded, and with a sick drop in his gut, Dean wondered if Cas was drunk, and didn’t understand what he was doing. And then Cas turned his head just enough to see Dean watching him. They stared at each other under the music and the crowd and darkness. Cas did not look drunk. The two men continued moving against him. Then Cas reached an arm behind himself to pull the other man’s face toward his, and turned his head to kiss him while Dean watched.

What was the old joke? _What’s more manly than fucking a man? Fucking two._ Where had he heard that before?

The man in front of Cas laughed, soundless from across the room. He looked pleased, calm, friendly. He reminded Dean of woodcut illustrations of demons watching with interest as someone was pulled apart in hell, while Dante must have looked on while Virgil rutted between two strangers and slipped his tongue into one of their mouths, the movement traceable in the lewd bulge of their cheeks. Cas pulled away from the first man, and again– an eerie, ice-cold moment of eye contact with Dean several yards away, more lucid now– before he took the second man’s cheerful head in both his hands and kissed him with the somber desire of a holy man blessing someone. 

Someone bumped into Dean, maybe on accident, maybe on purpose, seeing some creep standing there blocking the bar and staring open-mouthed at people trying to dance. There was something cold on his chest; they had spilled their drink on him. He looked around the room on some desperate reflex to do something, anything, before turning back in time to see Cas with his head fallen back on the shoulders of the man behind him, his throat exposed, his arm once again reaching around the man’s neck. The two men were kissing over his shoulder, his hand resting on the back of the neck of the man in front of him. From Dean’s view, Cas almost looked like a headless body between them.

When the lights and music flickered off and a ghost with facial hair like a broom and a dustpan appeared in front of him, Dean’s reaction was to blink. Then it was the ghost of John Winchester, arms crossed, disappointed. Then it was the Cryptkeeper, lifting a shaking finger towards him. Then it was John Kellogg again. All his instincts, reflexes, experience, and training had left the dancefloor for the bar, leaving him feeling like he was pinched in space and time between two planets. It made more sense for a shapeshifting ghost to appear than it did to see Cas’s tongue in someone else’s (and the possessive distinction between _someone’s_ and _someone else’s_ was like being squeezed by a vice) mouth. People were screaming. He did not snap out of his trance until he heard Cas yell his name.

The instincts, reflexes, experience, and training all swore and put down their drinks in a hurry and rushed back to him, as he pulled out the iron baton in his jacket and swung it across the ghost’s chest, skimming the waistcoat red before the thing exploded into white light and smoke. The crowd screamed. He ran for the back door before someone could call the cops. 

In the alley he texted Sam humorlessly, _showtime,_ with a fire emoji in case the message wasn’t clear _._

Three blocks away, behind a tree in a park, he called Cas. No answer. He texted him.

_Where are you?_

_Ran. i’m safe_

_Do you need a ride_

_No_

_Where are you?_

There was no answer.

_Cas stop fucking around and_

He deleted it and started walking back to the street where he’d parked the car, trying not to look suspicious.

-

He called Sam while driving, “Swiped the ghost with some iron. It’s our guy, Tony the Tiger all right.”

“Good. I burned the body. No problems. I’m a few blocks away.”

Dean passed by another building with KELLOGG written across it, “Man, fuck name-brand cereals anyways.”

“Dean?”

“Nothing. Just glad the dude’s back in hell. Text me your address, I’ll pick you up.”

“Is Cas with you?”

“No,” he hung up.

-

Dean waited until Sam fell asleep, leaving the TV quiet and blue in the dark motel room, before going to the bathroom. He should have taken a shower as soon as he got back. 

He pressed his head against the tile, thinking about Cas’s eyes from across the room. He’d looked half sedated. Almost sweet, if he hadn’t been so serious. The eerie way he’d looked at Dean as if– what? It was a challenge? 

His brain course-corrected and swerved him into a safer lane of thought even as his hand crept lower under the hot water, _He was challenging me because I’m always bragging about getting laid. He was trying to say ‘oh, like it’s so hard?’ He wanted to show off that he could walk into a bar and walk out with a guy for each arm. Payback for letting the angel watch porn, payback for pizza guy jokes, payback for kicking him out of the bunker. Payback for telling him to blow me._

The last thought ripped him back into reality, where he was already hard and thinking about the shipwrecked look in Cas’s eyes. His mouth had been slightly open. Maybe he’d gone home with those guys, and now they were–

-

–bending his head between Cas’s legs on the bed, his hands gripping his thighs as he went down on him. Cas was balancing in the other man’s lap, the man’s hands on his chest, inside him but not moving. Cas pushed himself up and then down, causing the man in front to let out a muffled grunt at the inconvenience of a moving target. The man behind him kissed his neck, murmured something politely about how Cas could pick one or the other but not both at the same time, and Cas gasped as he thought about how the man bobbing between his legs had hair like Dean’s in this dark room lit dimly by the light from the apartment bathroom–

-

_Was he thinking about me?_ The thought made him put a hand over his mouth and lean his forehead into the shower wall hard enough to leave a red mark. If he didn’t make a sound, it didn’t count. It was just blowing off steam. It wasn’t new for the mental image of Cas to show up in the shower or under the sheets, but usually he could dismiss it, shoo it away and then think mechanically of girls in cut-off shorts or Nurse Julie getting some from _Doctor Sexy_ or vague, glossy cleavage. He couldn’t now. He was just working through a weird moment when Cas had looked so blissed out and fucked without even taking his clothes off that Dean wasn’t sure how much time had actually passed while they’d watched each other across the room. _Why did he look at me? What did he want me to do? Did he want me to–_

_-_

“Fuck me,” Cas relented, picking one instead of the other. 

The guy in front of him pulled off and sat up, leaned closer, waited to see if Cas would say no, then kissed him as the guy behind him finally started thrusting. It turned out the movement made kissing almost as hard as giving head, and the man in front switched to kissing Cas’s neck, than kissing the man fucking him. Cas reached out, eyes closed, and held onto the man's shoulders. He let his head fall, and someone cupped the back of it and stroked their fingers through his hair.

“We got you. We got you.”

He had never understood why humans cried during sex. He felt the desire now just somewhere out of his orbit. If he was really human, he would have. He felt both relaxed and tense, eager and also content to just rest his head against this stranger’s shoulder and be taken care of. Someone was kissing the back of his neck. He had never felt so condensed into this body. He was aware of all of it, including the limits where he stopped being aware of anything, and the self ended. Maybe this feeling of containment was leading to its opposite, and he was getting closer and closer to feeling like his true form, once again something beyond the physical and the earthly, a feeling which could only now be reached by the most physical and earthly means possible.

-

If it was just blowing off steam he would have been done by now. It felt like his head was a room full of guys decking each other, each fight between one idea and its counterargument. As soon as he thought _if I was just blowing off steam I’d be done by now,_ there was another thought telling that first thought to fuck off and mind its own business. One thought was _He was probably just trying to summon the ghost and telling you to keep an eye out for it, you know, because that was the plan,_ and a second thought responded by throwing a table and leaping for that thought’s throat. It was repression versus rebellion, both sides distracting each other long enough for Dean to gasp wetly against his palm and think _Cas, Cas, Cas–_

_-_

Cas almost didn’t recognize feeling Dean’s voice in his head. His grace had been whittled down so much that he hardly relied on it anymore, and prayers were often static in the back of his head, if they were anything at all. He heard his voice and felt like it was shaking one last downy feather loose. Just his own name over and over, tangled up in itself. A small, selfish prayer, to and for nobody but him. He exhaled into the stranger’s shoulder as he came and moaning as he leaned back against the second man, who was still working in and out of him. The first man was coaxing him and saying kind words he heard but didn’t comprehend. Later, using their shower, he’d stand in the hot water stunned that a noise like that had come from him.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well well well well. WELL WELL WELL. anyways good morning with love to vegans, vegetarians, asexuals, people who abstain from drinking for any reason, people who just don't like masturbating, people who eat cereal without milk, and people who jog. i DO hate john kellogg's guts though and the guy and his brother really did suck for a myriad of serious reasons, which i only found out while trying to research this fic that includes a threesome. the hardest part of this was coming up with a porn title that did not make me want to shrivel up and die


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, they went out for breakfast. Sam asked where Cas was, and Dean shrugged.

“You know the guy. He just disappears sometimes.”

“You think he’s okay?”

“I texted him.”

“... And?”

“And he’s fine! He said he got away safe. And then, usual secretive shit. Not like I’m gonna ask a brick wall why it’s being tightlipped.”

Dean watched with disguised terror as Sam pulled out his phone and called Cas. He even brought the cup of coffee to his mouth and managed to mutter, “Of course he’ll answer the phone if it's _you_ ,” when Cas picked up and Sam smiled, still with that worried line in his forehead.

“Hey, dude. You okay?”

Cas sounded so much more nasally over the phone, still deep but somehow bitchier just from coming out of such a small device. Dean smiled without thinking while Sam was distracted by relief.

“Okay. You need a ride?”

Dean waited as Sam listened to the response.

“Okay. We're at Barbara Ann's. Yeah. I’ll text you the address. If you need anything, call us.”

The gravel drag of enough syllables to say _Thank you, Sam_ , and then the phone beeped. Sam put the phone away, not even bothering to sound surprised or worried when he asked, “Did you guys get in a fight last night?”

“What? No.”

“Oh. He sounded weird.”

“He’s a weird dude. He just sounds like that.”

Sam stretched and yawned, for once forgetting to be shy about taking up so much space, “Yeah, well. He’s our weird dude.”

“Yeah. Where was he last night?”

“He said he went around town checking other bars and spots where the ghost might appear for a second shot, just to be sure. Sounded like he might have caught some rest at a bus stop.”

“Oh,” Dean started to wonder if Sam was unusually gullible.

An ambulance whistled down the street. The waiter coming over to pour their coffee watched it go, looking tired, and shook their head.

Dean and Sam waited for him to leave, before Sam craned his head to try and see where the ambulance might have gone, “You gotta be kidding me.”

-

“So it wasn’t Kellogg.”

“Maybe it was the other brother.”

Sam was leaning against the car, “I really do not want to just start burning graves every night until we find our ghost. You saw it, did anything look weird about it?”

“It uh,” Dean rolled the risk/benefit of honesty in his head around a little, “It looked like dad for a second. And also the dude from the Crypt show.”

“It looked like dad?”

“Yeah, and also the Cryptkeeper. You know. From the Crypt.”

“I’m familiar. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought, I don’t know, I thought I was just seeing something weird.”

Sam squinted, “How exactly did you guys summon it in the first place?”

“It was, you know, a bar. There were lots of desperate people dancing and drinking. We didn’t even do anything.”

Sam looked like he wanted to say something, and mercifully chose not to. Then his eyes lit up on something behind Dean.

“Hey, there you are.”

Cas had walked up behind them, hands in his pockets. Same clothes as the night before, but then again, that was normal behavior.

“Nice of you to join us,” Dean turned away from him and hoped it was not obvious when he swallowed.

Cas ignored him, “There was another murder this morning. It happened after–” a pause as he remembered to avoid loudly talking in public about ghosts and burning corpses and having an erection, “–the events of last night.”

-

They ended up breaking into the former sanitarium, now the Hart-Dole-Inouye Federal Center. They fought through swarms of the ghosts of veterans, the ghosts of Seven Day Adventists brandishing graham crackers, of doctors and nurses running after them with belted stretchers and scalpels. There was an inscription on a window in the lobby, _He is Thy Life_ , which served to help nobody. They cut through the powdery white bodies with iron rods like machetes through a swamp. 

In the end, there had been a cracked and yellowing letter on a desk, sticking out among the white sheets of paperwork, from John to Will, apologizing for never seeing him as an equal. They’d burned it. The swarms had dissipated. They went back to the motel and and Dean collapsed in bed. They drove home the next morning. He was behind the wheel, he was napping in the backseat. He was back in the bunker. He was sitting on a hill. He was awake in a hallway.

There were photos, it seemed, everywhere. Framed photos of Sam smiling with some brown-haired woman, in front of hiking trail views and wearing ridiculous outdoor gear. There were photos with a blonde woman in the back, her face always out of focus but her hands on Sam or Dean’s shoulders. Pictures of him and Jo making faces, Ellen and Bobby and Rufus laughing and yelling about something when the flash went off. Pictures of him and Sam looking too soft to have ever held a knife or a gun standing next to Bobby, with one hand on top of each of their messy haircuts. One of John, alone and in a small frame, maybe cut close from a group photo to look more like a portrait. Pictures of him and Sam, one of them doing something dumb while the other rolled their eyes or bitch-faced the camera. One of him and Sam smiling by the side of the road with their arms around each other, looking impossibly young in front of a snowy mountain behind them, as if the photo had been taken from a car window. He remembered the photo being taken. Cas had taken it, refusing to get out of the car because it had been too cold. Dean had climbed back in, falling into the driver’s seat and immediately reaching to put his cold hands under Cas’s shirt, _don’t worry, there’s enough snow to go around_ , and laughing when Cas basically hissed at him and batted his hands back, only for Sam to reach around from the back seat and put his icy palm directly on the back of Cas’s neck. When Cas had stopped pressing against the the passenger side door and watching them both like a wet cat, Dean had pulled him close by the collar of his coat and planted a kiss on the side of his irritated face, _thanks for the photo, sweetheart_ , and turned the ignition–

Candids of Cas and Sam that Dean had taken, of them in diners or leaning against the Impala or glaring at him for taking yet another photo while they were trying to talk. A picture of Cas and him standing together in formal clothes at some event, both their smiles forced and awkward, that Sam must have insisted on. A photo of Cas and him asleep on Bobby’s couch, a beer still in his hand, Cas curled up against him with his head on his shoulder, their mouths open. There was photographic evidence that Cas had stayed. Was staying. It was even likely that he was never going to leave. 

“Dean?”

Cas was standing in the hall, watching him. Head tilted, but his clothes were different. A big sweater, his hands tucked into the pockets of jeans cut ragged above the knee. There was a pair of reading glasses hanging from his collar. A hint of a tie-dye shirt was hanging under his sweater. He was wearing old brown sandals and socks, and Dean laughed, more out of shock than amusement.

“Hey. Professor Woodstock. Looking for your bong?”

“You told me and Sam you’d lock us out if you caught us smoking in the house again,” and Dean looked around and they were in a house, a _real_ house, “Also I dislike bongs. I prefer joints.”

“What the hell–”

There was a big kitchen, and he could see out of into the living room, with a big TV, and a big couch, and big windows. This was his house. He’d forgotten. Cas’s hand was on his chin suddenly, immediate and strong, turning Dean’s head to look at him like a doctor about to check under someone’s tongue. His hand was big.

“Dean? Are you alright? Maybe I should cook dinner tonight.”

“Cas–” he put his hand over Cas’s as it moved to his cheek, and felt a hard line; he was wearing a ring.

“Do you want me to change my clothes?”

“What?”

-

Dean was under him, over him, wrapped around him, against the wall, in the car, on the car, on a bed, arching, pinning, bent, hot. Cas was almost Castiel again, needing the extra syllable and his whole form to consume him. His wings folded underneath and around Dean covetously, as if to hide him. His three heads looked at Dean’s body from three angles. He could hold Dean in one hand and place him inside the center of his being, the nuclear and whirring heart of him, and keep him there. He could hollow out the star-scraping tower of his body like a New York office building and Dean could live in it. He could see Dean’s soul, the thing he had rebuilt his body around like building a car by starting with the empty space it held inside, and he could see it enthusiastically embracing his own not-soul, could sense its annoyance when they were not touching. He saw Dean awestruck from finally recalling what it was like to be pulled from hell, the grace wrapped around his shoulder as Castiel had roared like a fiery spear through legions of demons with heavenly blood in his eyes, and Cas saw how the rapture of that memory wiped away all the years of suffering and torture. Dean finally understood the degree of Castiel’s power and devotion, and was compelled in adoration to fall to his knees. Then Castiel was Cas, with Dean’s head against his chest in bed, panting, sweating, smiling and laughing every time they looked at each other still out of breath.

“That was pretty good, Cas,” Dean patted him affectionately, “But uh, next time, don’t feel like you have to show off. I feel like I just took a convertible to the moon and back.”

“How could you drive a car into space?”

“Exactly.”

Dean was so relaxed, in a way that usually only complete despair could break him into. His eyes were bright and open. He didn’t look away with embarrassment, or shame, or huff and say something about how they needed to get up and get back to work. Cas had soothed him. His chest swelled with gold and scarlet pride. The ecstasy of Teresa, the daughters of men who were swept away by the sons of God– and now him, loosening the squeaky hinge in Dean’s jaw. Dean barely looked like himself. For a moment, he looked like another man entirely, and then Cas recoiled. It did not look like Dean because it could not be Dean. There was pain that could not be undone by love. It was hubris to think so. This wasn’t real. They were both standing up now, Dean reaching for him with a look of almost petulant, entitled need; not the way Dean let himself need anything. Cas stepped back.

-

They were still in the former sanitarium. Cas woke up on the cold, hard floor in the dark. Whatever light came through illuminated dust in the air, as well as a ghoulish, skeletal creature draped in black and rotted shrouds. It was sitting on the desk with its legs crossed. It tilted its head at him.

A simmering voice washed past his head, _What’s wrong? Usually people like the dreams I give them. Or at least I think they do._

Cas pushed himself up. Dean and Sam were still lying on the floor. 

_They never live long enough to give me a review._

The thing had long, long fingers that tapered into claws, which were folded politely over its knee.

“Why give them any dreams at all?” His voice was an imitation of Dean’s voice, of Sam’s voice, as were most of his hunting skills, and it shook a little coming from him as he tried to buy time.

_Why does a spider numb a fly?_

“The murders, the ghost–”

_Let's say you can’t get what you want in real life because you’re afraid of being next in a line of murders happening to people who want things just a little too much. Scared if you step out of line then old Kellogg’s ghost might haunt you. Or your mother-in-law’s, or your schoolteacher, or your father. Then you want it all the more when you get it in a dream. So bad you won't even wake up, and it will be the last dream you’ll ever have. Isn’t that right, Seraphim? Oh. Sorry._

Naomi and Zachariah appeared at each side of the desk, transparent and white.

_FORMER Seraphim._

He crouched next to Dean, one hand on the knife and the other on Dean’s shoulder, without ever looking away from the creature.

“Dean. Dean, you have to wake up. It’s not real.”

-

Cas was wearing slacks, a denim jacket, a Zeppelin shirt, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Dean knew this was the part where he was supposed to step back, shake his head, but instead he just closed his eyes and leaned into the hand as he pressed it into his skin, “Are you staying?”

“Of course I’m staying. Dean, I live here. What are you talking about?”

“But you, you have things you want to–”

“I don’t have to do anything except what you want me to do. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. If you want me to hunt, I’ll hunt. If you want me to be quiet, I’ll be quiet. If you want me to be just a friend again, I can be just a friend. I can like the music you want me to like, dress the way you want. If you need something to be my fault, then it’s my fault. I can’t leave you, Dean. Unless you tell me to leave. Otherwise, I have to stay no matter what. What do you want me to cook for dinner?”

“No, no,” he couldn’t let the hand leave his face, even as it started to feel cold, “This isn’t right.”

“But it’s the way I should be, isn’t it? Loyal. Easy.”

-

“Dean! Wake up! I need you to help me!”

-

Dean let the hand fall from his face. He woke up to Cas shaking his shoulder, to the office in the old sanitarium that he barely remembered passing out in. The creature was sitting on the desk, but now it was standing, coming closer with its hands outstretched. His vision was already starting to tunnel again, his legs and arms weak.

“Dean, wake up Sam. I can handle this.”

“Cas–”

“Just get him!”

On either side of the desk was John Winchester and Samuel Campbell. Dean ignored them and crawled over to Sam.

“Sam, come on, it’s all bullshit, wake up, Sammy–”

Same blinked a bleary eye open like Dean was waking him for school, “What the– Jess, mom–”

“It’s dream poison, Sam! We gotta help Cas!” 

Just in time for Cas to get flung to the other side of the room. Dean felt the air change as the creature came up behind him, saw Sam’s eyes watch it over his shoulder, and waited. At the last second he turned and dragged his knife through the shrouds and the creature’s body, scraping against the bone with a screech like a car wreck. The creature collapsed, and Dean had to quickly drag Sam’s body back when the pile of bones and rags burst into flames and left nothing but a scorch in the tile.

Cas was fine, other than some bruises. There was a pouch in the desk drawer– in the car ride back, Sam identified it as a hex for pleasant dreams. 

“It’s a fairly benign spell. The worst thing a witch can really use it for is price-gouging.”

“I guess some government employee could afford it.”

“The other issue is there’s a disclaimer they might attract dream widows.”

“Dream widows? The hell?”

“The site didn’t have any more info, but I remembered seeing something about them in this book of rare monsters. They’re drawn to good dreams. When they tell you not to look in a mirror if you’re lucid dreaming? It’s because these things can be waiting for you, to absorb your life force. They're usually not strong enough to kill anyone, but this one must have gotten enough juice to start manipulating events in the real world. It was probably reshaping the spell with its own magic.”

Dean tapped the wheel, “Should we burn the bag?”

“I think I want to keep it,” Sam turned it over in his palm, and then put it in an inscribed wooden box between his feet, “As long as we keep it in the bunker, it should be fine.”

Dean eyed it for a second before turning back to the road, “You sure that’s safe?”

“Like I said, the spell itself is harmless.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you just want to analyze it,” Dean reached out to ruffle Sam’s hair and Sam dodged it naturally, “How does the _Eagles_ song go? _Sam’s got the moon in his eyes? See how high he flies_?”

Sam laughed, even when Dean started crooning the chorus. He felt weirdly in a good mood. The adrenaline had flushed out his nerves, and finding the monster had resolved everything that came before it. The club was just part of the case, and the case was over. He met Cas’s curious eyes in the mirror and smiled. He almost winced, remembering the dream, and then shoved the memory away. 

“What did you dream about, Cas? Beekeeping?”

“Sex.”

Dean almost drove the car into the field. The case was over. The dream was over. It was a fluke and a spell and it wasn’t real. Sam laughed.

“Good for you, Cas.”

“... Thank you. What did you two dream about?”

Sam swallowed, “Nothing. Just a nice day.”

Dean lied, in conveniently few words and with almost no thought, “Also sex.”

Sam did not laugh or congratulate him, but instead just rolled his eyes. Cas asked if they could listen to James Taylor. Dean already knewhe'd be outnumbered if he said no. He sighed dramatically and Sam took the cue to begin searching for the cassette out of the glove compartment, before Cas leaned forward from the back and handed it to him. He kept some cassettes with him, tucked inside the messenger bag he liked for traveling. A few were Carly Rae Jepsen, Destiny's Child– tapes that Dean had to burn at a doe-eyed Cas's request since he refused to learn how to do it himself. Halfway through "Mexico," Dean’s good mood was back on track. The only two people he ever drove with were safe and liked sad music for moms. 

“What do you guys think about stopping at one of the lakes while we’re here?”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i also don't know what dream widows are because they are not real, the test was rigged


	3. Chapter 3

Dean woke up. The nice thing about the little lakeside rental RV not being a motel was that he didn’t wake up to the sound of a 16-wheeler or a train. Instead he woke up to a mosquito bite itching something awful on his forearm, and the scratchy blanket chafing against it. At least it was cold. Great. Sam was snoring on the bed in the back, him and Cas probably spooning like sweet little fucking weirdos. Dean was crammed in the fold out couch that had been hidden under the dining table.

There was no falling back asleep. He got up with the blanket stilled huddled around him. He’d slept in his clothes. He grabbed a lukewarm beer, thankful for once it wasn’t ice cold. The door creaked when he opened it, but Sam kept snoring.

Outside in the parking lot he noticed something off about Baby’s silhouette– there was a lump on top. He ducked below eye-level, and sidled around the side of it, hand on the knife in his belt. When he stepped past the driver’s side door, there was only Cas lying on the hood, who turned to look at him immediately.

“Hi, Dean.”

Dean stood up straight, embarrassed and annoyed about it, “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!”

“I couldn’t sleep. I feel fine.”

“Yeah, because the frostbite is setting in,” he threw the blanket at him.

Cas caught it and set it down next to him, “The stars are really beautiful here. I’m glad we took a detour. Thank you for driving the extra hours.”

Dean shrugged, “Not like I don’t enjoy driving.”

He stood there. Cas looked at him, hands folded over his chest, lying up against Baby’s windshield. 

“Did you want to sit with me?”

The possibility had genuinely not occurred to him, and the offer stunned him enough that he said, “Sure.”

The hood squeaked under him. He took the blanket that Cas had set aside and shoved it at him again, and Cas took it, paused, and then spread it over himself. He didn’t look cold at all. Dean twisted open the beer with his jacket over his palm. He took a sip before actually looking at the lake. There was a carpet of moonlight over it, almost as if you could walk across the water. Everything was shifty and shadowy and dark, but Cas was next to him, and Sam was safe asleep in the RV, and for once it was nice to have the night of the world all around him. He couldn’t think of anything to say. He tilted the beer towards Cas instead, who smiled.

“I’ll have some if you take some of this blanket.”

“It’s my blanket.”

“I know. You gave it to me.”

Dean could feel him teasing, but he sighed and pushed the beer at him again as he said, “Okay.”

Cas portioned out the blanket so he had just enough to cover one leg. Dean tapped their feet together.

“C’mon, man. Just– Here,” he patted the space next to him, and Cas looked at him with wide eyes before scooting closer.

Dean had to put an arm behind Cas’s shoulder to get him close enough for the blanket to fit. Cas almost elbowed him in the neck, and spilled some of the beer. Once Cas had moved close enough for Dean to stop muttering _dude, it's fine_ , he held the beer in both hands in front of him. He was looking at the moon half-terrified. Dean was busy looking at the lake, his face burning in a scowl. Cas was sitting up perfectly straight to keep his head from touching Dean’s arm. Dean rolled his eyes one last time for good measure.

“There. Warmer this way anyways. Here, give me that beer.”

Cas handed it to him. Their fingers brushed– there was only so much room on the bottle for two hands. It would be so easy to wrap his arm around Cas and for them to lean in together. Their legs weren’t even touching, but it was close. 

“I never really figured you were a fan of Baby.”

“Why?”

Dean tried to shrug without brushing their shoulders together, eyes fixed on the lake, “Just seems like something you’d think was silly. Liking a car.”

“You like the car because it reminds you of your family and safety. It helps you feel like you have control and a place in the world and can take care of people. That’s not silly.”

Dean turned to look at him, his head and chest suddenly hollowed out, but Cas was looking at the beer. Dean handed it back.

“What do _you_ like about the car?”

“It reminds me of you, and Sam,” a small and thoughtful pause that was so _Cas_ it swelled Dean’s heart, “And it’s a better place for stargazing than the ground.”

Dean took the beer back and didn’t drink from it, feeling slack and quiet, “I always forget how well you know me.”

“Of course I know you. I touched your soul.”

“No, not that, Jesse McCartney. I know that. But I mean–” he gestured uselessly to the lake and the trees and the shore and the way it was just the two of them in the middle of it all.

“You mean I understand you.”

“Yeah.”

Dean wasn’t even cold anymore. It really was unbelievable how beautiful the sky looked. In fact–

“Oh,” Dean smiled, “Of course.”

He turned to look at the dream version of Cas. The dream version of Cas looked back at him as if he were about to check his temperature.

“Dean?”

“Might as well enjoy it,” and Dean leaned in and kissed him, short and sweet, wondering if the spell would break once he started gaming the system as Cas went still under him.

He pulled away. Cas stared at him as if he’d started levitating and howling. Then looked around at the lake, the moonlight, the quiet night with nobody else, and something in his face changed, from dread to relief to grave resignation. He turned back to Dean and pulled him in by the collar. Dean laughed, and held onto his elbows as Cas straddled him and fisted both hands in his shirt to kiss him deeper. His coat hung loose and draped over the both of them like a cocoon. The blanket slid off the front of the car and into the dirt. The beer bottle had already rolled away.

Cas wasn’t smiling when he pulled away, but Dean grinned, “I like this version. You’re more believable than last time.”

Cas pushed himself up so he was sitting over Dean's legs, his head blocking out the moon, “What?”

Dean stopped smiling as soon as the alarm in Cas’s eyes clicked. They both recoiled in horror away from each other, Dean hitting his head on the windshield and Cas backing up on all fours so fast that his hand went into thin air before he fell off the car. He popped back up instantly and circled to the driver’s side. Dean watched him, clinging to the roof of the car before he found himself standing on the passenger’s side.

“This is– I thought–”

“I didn’t think it was real, Dean, I’m sorry–”

Dean had to keep his hand from going to the handle of his knife out of pure panicked reflex, “Cas, you’re real? This is real?”

“Yes!” Cas went from scared to intense in an instant, “What did you mean ‘last time?’"

“I mean the last dream–” He cut himself off, too late.

“You said you dreamed about sex. _That_ last time?”

He was now circling the car to keep it between him and Cas, “Does it matter?”

“Dean, we have to talk about this–”

“We don’t! All we have to do is go to back to bed!”

Cas hesitated long enough to consider if that was an innuendo, and then returned to chasing Dean patiently around the car, “We’ll still remember it in the morning.”

“No. Hey, remember what? See? It’s that easy.”

“Dean, you kissed _me._ ”

“Cas, please,” so what if he was begging? “Just a second ago you looked as scared as I did, like you were about to–”

Dean felt sick all over, the words _walk into the lake_ clumsy and rattling unsaid down his chest. If Cas sensed what he’d been about to say, he didn’t show it. He didn’t look afraid. He looked like a man whose job was to escort shocked people off a ship and into the lifeboats.

“Dean, if you want me, if you want this, and _I_ want this, then why–”

“Stop talking. I can’t, we can’t.”

“Why?”

In his current nausea, Dean saw a light in the distance. It was a flashlight. 

Cas had stopped moving when he did, “If we don’t talk about this, then tomorrow morning I want you to drop me off at the nearest town.”

Dean whipped his head from the light back to Cas, “What?”

“I can’t live the way you live, pretending this didn’t happen. I could have died never saying anything to you, but now that I know you want it too but won’t let yourself have it, I can’t just–” Cas shook his head, “I’m not going back to the bunker.”

“What?” Dean repeated himself, feeling like a child; the Cas in the fantasy said he’d do whatever Dean wanted, stay or leave or let Dean live his stupid life the way he’d always lived it, and the real Cas had a barrel at his head, “What if we need you?”

“Then call me. I’ll come. But I’m not going to spend any more time around you than I have to.”

Dean felt like all the cold and warmth of the night had drained out of him, leaving him as see-through and empty as a plastic bag. The flashlight was closer now, and a man in a banded hat was walking up to them.

“Is everything all right? I heard yelling.”

Cas looked like he wished he could have slammed a door, “Nothing. Just arguing about who’s going to sleep on the couch.”

He stormed off to the RV. Dean turned to the ranger and tried not to look like he needed all the help he could get. He could barely choke the words out.

“You know how it is.”

-

Dean opted out of going back to the RV in favor of sleeping in the back of the Impala with the dirty blanket picked up off the ground. He drank the fallen beer and ignored the ants on the rim. He felt like he should want to throw the empty bottle into the lake and rip the silver path on the water, or hurl it into a tree and shatter it, but he didn’t. There was nobody to see him do it. He held it on his lap until he fell asleep and it rolled under the front seat. He woke up to Sam throwing the door open.

“There you are, asshole. I’ve been calling you. I had no idea where you went.”

Cas was standing over by the water’s edge with his back to the car, visible through the front window.

“It’s nothing, Sam. There’s more room in here than that tin can.”

“If it makes you feel better, Cas wouldn’t stop moving around last night. He almost hit me in the face.”

Dean pressed his lips together in an attempt to smile, “I’m not hungry. You guys want to get some food? I can check us out here.”

“Oh. Uh. Sure.”

“What?”

“You’re not feeling sick, are you?”

Dean wrestled his wallet out of his jeans and threw it at Sam’s head before diving out the opposite door, “Just get out of here. Get me coffee.”

-

Checking out had consisted of showing them that the RV was not completely trashed, and handing over the keys. He started walking just to keep himself from lurking by the kiosk window with nothing to say. He was rounding the bathrooms and showers when he heard Sam.

“I don’t want Dean to know.”

On top of everything, Sam was keeping something from him? He leaned against the wall. There was the sound of running water, someone washing their hands.

Cas could sound more gentle than any human he’d ever met, “I won’t tell him. But you said you didn’t actually enjoy it. That’s how it was for me too. It was what the witch thought I wanted, but it wasn’t actually…”

“It wasn’t real enough, right?” Sam laughed, bitter, but sounded fine, “I’m not the same person who ran off to Stanford. Getting a law degree, marrying Jess, never seeing dad or Dean again–”

Dean clenched his jaw so hard it cracked.

“–Yeah, it’d be easier. A nice house, a nice job, never hunting or getting hurt. But it wasn’t me. All the stuff I went through was going to happen to me no matter what. It was destiny.”

“Sam, you didn’t deserve any of that–”

“I know, Cas, it’s alright. Never seeing Dean and then hearing his voice all of a sudden was the part that tipped me off. He’s always been there. He’s supposed to be, you know? Of course I don’t want a life without him in it. Even if it’s full of demons and hellfire and shit.”

Dean leaned against the dirty wall, rubbing a dirty palm against his eye, but not before a drop fell by his boot and darkened the pavement in a small, perfect circle. 

Still softly, “You should tell him.”

Another laugh, not bitter, “You know how he is. But yeah, maybe the next time I can corner him into being relaxed enough to let me say it.”

“I know what you mean,” almost too quiet to hear, “Do you ever… Think about leaving?”

“I mean, sure. I don’t think I can do this forever. I’ll have to drag Dean away to retirement first before I can really relax. But this is my life, Cas. I don’t like all the things that happened to me, but all I can do at the end of the day is know who I am and know who I want to be. It’s my life and I have to live it as myself, not as some fantasy version that was never me in the first place.”

“Yes. That’s very true.”

“You okay, Cas?”

"You didn't tell Dean about– about where I was that night, did you?"

"No. I lied and told him you spent the night still looking for the ghost."

“I think I need to take some time for myself. I asked Dean to drop me off in the nearest town.”

“Oh! Okay. Are you feeling alright? Everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” warm enough to convince Sam, “I just want to try being independent again.”

“You’re never a burden, dude. But, it’s your choice. We’ll miss you though. Dean’s going to be unbearable.”

A horrible pause, and then, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, he’s just a baby. Call us if you ever need anything.”

Dean ducked into the nearest bathroom and shut the door before they could walk around the corner of the building. 

-

The drive was quiet. Cas did not nap in the back but stared out his window like every sign and town passing by was about to be wiped off the map and needed a witness. He was not sure if he was supposed to pick a town and say something, or if Dean would just pull over and he’d get out. He wondered what would happen the longer he let Dean drive, if the angry mark in his cheek from where he was grinding his teeth would disappear or deepen. The closer they got to Kansas, would he think Cas was choosing to stay, and had only been bluffing? That seemed cruel, since he was not bluffing. Cas did not actually want to draw this out if it hurt. But he also could not bear to say anything just yet. He felt that if he even coughed, it would be taken as a signal for the car to slow and stop on the side of the road. 

Eventually, Sam turned around to look at him, a line of concern between his eyebrows, before turning to look at Dean, who had been staring straight at the road the entire time. Cas tried to smile reassuringly, but couldn’t quite make it.

“The next town is good, Dean. Thank you.”

They took the exit, Sam’s eyes still on his in the rear view mirror, but Cas turned back to look out the window. He could figure this life out again. He’d sleep on the floor of his work and steal food out from under the heat lamps. It wasn’t ideal but he wanted it more than he wanted to go back to the bunker and _almost_ but not-quite have what he wanted. The car stopped at a motel parking lot, in between the lobby and the diner sitting companionably on the corner. Dean turned the engine off and did not take his hands off the wheel when he spoke to the windshield.

“You got a credit card?”

“Yes.”

“Cellphone?”

“Yes.”

Sam; “Did something happen–”

“Sam. It’s fine.”

Sam glared at him. Cas reached a hand out to put on Sam’s shoulder, ignoring the way Dean turned his head to avoid seeing it.

“It’s okay, Sam. Nothing serious.”

“You guys–”

“Drop it.”

Cas squeezed Sam’s shoulder and managed a smile, and got out of the side door. He closed it as he normally would. He stood with his back to the car and took a deep breath, willing the car to drive away and to not drive away. He had never been good at willing things to happen, but they were the only two options. Either way he’d at least get half of what he wanted.

He heard a car door open. Dean’s voice.

“Sam, whatever happens, just– stay in the car. Okay?”

“Dean, what the hell–”

“Seriously, just stay in the car.”

“If I hear gunshots or yelling–”

“If you hear gunshots then come save my ass,” and then the door slammed.

Cas had still not turned around. He was blinking up at the second story of motel rooms. The roof was blue. People liked to paint buildings near bodies of water blue.

“Cas?”

He turned around. Dean was standing on the other side of the car, his hand light on the roof.

“Cas, c’mon. Don’t do this.”

“Nothing’s changed, Dean.”

“What if,” Dean’s hand slipped but still didn’t leave the car, “What if it did?”

“You would have to be the one to change it.”

“I remember, okay? I remember last night,” he tilted his head up and squinted at the daylight, breathing visibly, “Now please. Don’t go.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. It’s not that easy.”

“Man, what do you want me to say?”

“You remember. That’s good. Are you still going to remember when we get back to the bunker? Are you going to remember in front of Sam? Are you going to forget and remember and forget again when you want to?”

“Cas–”

“I know this is hard for you, Dean. I’m sorry. But it wasn’t hard when you thought it was just a dream. I can go my whole life not needing anything back from you, but I can’t watch you do the same.”

“Cas, please. Please.”

“Are you more scared of being with me or losing me?”

Dean took a step back from the car like he’d been shoved. Cas realized he was breathing just as heavy. He realized Sam could probably hear them, and probably see them in the side mirror. He realized it was 10 am and there were families and truckers in the windows of the diner, and he was standing right next to a vintage car that was hard not to notice even when it wasn’t the site of an argument. Dean actually looked soft, which was rare these days. He was looking at Cas without any anger. It was only with some emotion cousin to fear. Dean started to slowly step around the car, keeping himself facing towards Cas. Cas resisted the urge to take off running. He could not resist the urge to stare down at his shoes.

A hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up, and Dean was right next to him. The almost-fear was now just painstaking gentleness. He looked like someone nervous to pick up an injured bird. Then to Cas’s astonishment, Dean leaned forward shakily and kissed him on the cheek. Then pulled away, his hand back at his side.

“I’m scared as hell of everything, man. But I can try. Just, please. Don’t go.”

Halfway through the smile spreading across his own face, Cas realized there was a tear rolling down his cheek. He touched it and looked at his finger. The feeling was not unpleasant. He even laughed a little. He did not reach for Dean, and Dean did not reach for him.

“Hey. Cas. Say something. Was that okay?”

“Yes. I was just surprised. That was very sweet.”

“Oh hell. Well, yeah. It’s gonna be slow-going with me, you know that, right?”

“But it will be going?”

“Yeah. It will be going,” and Dean smiled, small and even shy. 

They stood and smiled at each other like kids. Cas opened his mouth as if he meant to say something, then changed his mind, and got back in the car. Dean got in the driver’s seat. Sam raised his eyebrows at both of them.

“Uh. Cool. Are we going to talk about that?”

Dean inhaled deeply, “Hm. No. Later. I gotta drive.”

“Dean–”

“Sam, seriously,” and Cas watched the way Dean’s body language had changed completely from before, now loose and funny and wide, and risked the pride of thinking _I did that,_ and then amended humbly to _we did that,_ “I promise I will tell you. I’ll let you talk at me all you want. But you gotta let me drive for a few hours at least.”

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” and Sam tipped his head towards Cas in the back.

Cas saw Dean trying to smirk in the rear-view mirror, and then cough and turn away, “Nah. We’ll have time once we get home.”

At a certain point Cas switched places with Sam, who fell asleep promptly in the backseat. Dean took one hand off the wheel and left it on the seat, until Cas rested his own hand over it. Dean flipped his palm up and laced their fingers together. He remained staring blankly at the road, turning red, and Cas went back to looking out the passenger window, smiling.

-

-

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [waves] bye everyone! another joking idea for a fic that came and swung at me. i'm late to the day, but if you enjoyed it and have the money, please consider donating to the american society of deaf children to celebrate the sam/eileen wedding, or any other foundations benefitting deaf or hard-of-hearing people. https://deafchildren.org/donate/


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